


Delta Kappa Mu

by chubby_thunder



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock BBC, Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Blood, Choking, Drug Abuse, Drug Addict Sherlock, Dubious Consent, Guilt, M/M, Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Sherlock Holmes and Drug Use, Smut, Wet & Messy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-29
Updated: 2016-11-29
Packaged: 2018-09-03 01:39:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8691481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chubby_thunder/pseuds/chubby_thunder
Summary: After all, the brain is the most powerful sex organ.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This was written as a gift for my husband a couple years ago. Thank you to my beta readers: [PagingValentineOne](http://archiveofourown.org/users/PagingValentineOne/pseuds/PagingValentineOne) and [Tentacutie](http://www.tentacutie.tumblr.com)!
> 
> Enjoy!

The last thing John expected or wanted when he returned to 221B was to find Sherlock's bedroom door open.  It had been over a week since he had seen his roommate and consummate pain in the ass.  It wasn't uncommon for Sherlock to leave for days or hide out for various projects and experiments. John surmised that maybe he was sourcing items for another round of tests on human and animal body parts. And when he was gone the door was always shut.

John was wary as he approached the darkened door, fingers twitching at the edge of his jumper.  He felt kind of stupid, like a youngster in a horror film about to explore someplace the audience knew would get him killed, at best.  The smell that hit his nose once he crossed the threshold was familiar. It was the aroma of a man, of an unwashed body, the oddly comforting musk of his closest friend.  John's pupils expanded in the darkness darkening his slate eyes to a deep cloudy blue.

"Sh... Sherlock?" he said, his own voice sounding ridiculous even to himself.

Whether or not he was actually present felt inconsequential. John was only paying attention to the tremor in his own voice.

"John," it was an entire sentence in a single word coming out of the darkness.

The good doctor felt his heart beating faster instantaneously. He kept walking forward cautiously until his toes taped the leg of Sherlock's simple bed. He started a little, eyes already adjusting to the dim light.

"Sherlock?" he asked again, softer this time as his trembling hand reached out to the dark form on the bed sheets.

A slim long-fingered hand gripped John’s sweater clad forearm causing a soft gasp to drop from his jaded lips.  But he didn’t jump. John never jumped around Sherlock. Despite his condition, despite the _hypervigilance_ as the therapists called it, which caused him to twitch and look at every door slamming and at every car backfiring, John was at peace around Sherlock. His chaotic war-torn mind could relax.

The first thing John realized was that Sherlock’s fingers weren’t ice cold like they usually were.  “You’re so warm,” John whispered as if someone else was nearby to hear their intimate exchange. He placed his other hand on the thinner man’s to fully appreciate his radiating skin. His fingers trailed over a wrist and down his arm. Sherlock was so slender that John could feel his tendons and his veins, mapping his body with his mind as he had done so many times before in the dark.

_Ulnar vein_

_Radial vein_

_Medial vein_

The bulging places where thick vascular pathways branched, valves and bifurcations, into other vessels pumping blood through those delicate veins. The doctor’s trembling fingers slid over the warm skin, but as they pulled away he could feel something thick and sticky on his digits like syrup. _Congealing hemoglobin_. Raising his fingers to his nose, John inhaled the rich sickly sweet smell of oxidizing iron, the earthy aroma of cooling plasma.

“John.” Sherlock breathed the word with relaxed lips, head tilted back to arch that endless neck.

He could feel the shudder that ran through John as he placed those fingertips on his wet tongue. The metallic taste making the short graying hair on the back of his neck stand at attention. It smelled like hurt and war. It tasted like lust and control.

The writhing mess of a man twisting in the sheets didn’t even look like Sherlock Holmes. He’d grown even gaunter during this binge. His skin was paler than porcelain and his eyes dark and dilated under their impossibly heavy lids. This man wasn’t just impaired. He was on another plane of existence.

“Mmm… You’re home…” Sherlock cooed, his low rumbling voice oddly coquettish and playful despite his slur.

John’s fingers continued to brush over the pale skin of Sherlock’s arm, pulling more soft sounds from the younger man’s lips.

“Yes. I’m home, Sherlock,” John replied.

He felt as though his speech was stunted and odd, and it was. The awkward cadence was met with an unsettling smile.  Sherlock was truly out in space.  His long lanky frame continued to twist in the messy bed and John swore Mrs. Hudson must have turned up the heat in the flat.

“I… I missed you,” John nearly whispered, wiping a perceived bit of sweat from his brow.

The caregiver in him couldn’t abide by this.  What he wanted to do to this man… To this lithe creature taken in a flood of opioid euphoria.  Consent was a four letter word here.

Sherlock manages to push himself up almost to his knees on the stained sheets. “Oh John…” And there was so much love in his voice, so much affection.  His cheeks looked slightly rosy. Whether it was from arousal or the heroin John didn’t dare guess. Sherlock’s long violin player’s fingers brushed up John’s side, clumsily working under his shirt to find skin.  John released him to grab that hand, his own blue eyes looking black in the dim light.

“Sherlock,” John said, trying like hell to keep a sobering tone, “You’re impaired.”

“Don’t care,” Sherlock cooed. He smiled biting his lower lip as that hand moved over John’s stomach to his chest.

John didn’t stop him. In fact, all he did was let out a soft hiss when those digits found a pert nipple to pull.

_Enabler._

_Pusher._

_User._

John shook his head, pushing out these truths. He wanted the young man before him who sat there, so pliant and obedient, spreading his knees wide on the bed, other hand trailing, fingers about to brush down the zip of his own trousers.

“John…” Sherlock moaned, tone a little more urgent.

The doctor’s head was spinning, his cock throbbing painfully in his jeans. Finally he gave in and sat on the edge of the bed out of fear that he could possibly faint and fall. Within seconds there was a thin delicate body draping around him. Long limbs stretching to encase him, hands all over his thighs. John stopped him with a shudder, placing his own hand over Sherlock’s, not allowing it to move higher.

Sherlock… that bloody brat… still managed to brush along John’s crotch with his stupidly long fingers.

“Are you… absolutely sure?” John asked.

_Cheat._

_Opportunist._

_Rapist._

In his heart of hearts, John was sure Sherlock had no ability to consent. The erection threatening to rip the fly and zip of his favorite jeans didn’t give a flying fuck.

The pointless answer came as he expected. “Of course,” Sherlock half-purred in his drug-induced twang.

Hungry eyes over his fair flesh and dark curls made Sherlock get even harder. A combination of the drug and overstimulation already making him whine with need.  He decided he didn’t want to wait and dove for John’s zipper. Insistent with his intention that what was inside belonged to him and only he knew what to do with it.

“Bloody hell…” John growled and gave up, hands flying frantically to help Sherlock with his pants.  Their hands together shoved down the jeans and yanked off his jumper, pushing up the t-shirt that remained.

Sherlock was the one who pushed down his underwear giving the most precious little groan when John’s hard cock tapped his cheek once freed.  Precum smearing on his face for a moment, Sherlock wasted no time sealing his lips around the head, sucking hungrily and pushing down in one smooth motion.

So many times wanking in the shower, this had been John’s fantasy. He now had it before him and he was speechless until a lusty cry broke forth from his chest.  Hips pushing upward involuntarily and Sherlock taking everything he could get. Before he knew it John’s own hand was in those dark springy curls shoving that throat down over and over. Eyelids fluttering, John let out a low animalistic groan, “Fuck…”

As if the idea suddenly shot into him like a bolt of lightening, Sherlock pulled off, lips shining and starting to swell. He crawled back up the bed with clear purpose undoing his own pants. He was hard as a rock and his brain was completely shut off.

_Heaven._

_Peace._

Shoving off his trousers and pants until they hung off of only one leg, Sherlock sprawled on the bed offering himself to John. He spread his long lean legs to make room for the good doctor between them. He didn’t care that it had been over 3 year since he last had sex. He just felt so… good right now. So calm.

All the aggression boiled to the surface, all the times John wanted to fuck that smug shit-eating grin right off of Sherlock Holmes’ face… John rolled over pinning the taller man to the bed with ease, leaning down quickly to sink his teeth into the skin of his neck. John claimed the genius, the young sociopathic ingénue.

The strangled cry that made its way from Sherlock’s lips to John’s ear made him even harder as he rutted himself against the youngster. John wasn’t new to sex with men, but he was new to sex with Sherlock.

Somehow he’d imagined their first time a bit differently.

Animalistic desire pumped through the ex-soldier’s veins, much as the faux opiate wound its way lazily through the consulting detective’s, making this misanthropic asshole into a boneless cooing housecat beneath him.  John moved to clasp both Sherlock’s fine-boned wrists with one hand, leaving the other hand free to shove a couple digits into Sherlock’s waiting mouth. Somehow it was all so much better when he was pinned down like this.

Being given free reign over Sherlock’s body was an odd privilege and John awkwardly wasn’t sure what to do besides the one thing he’d wanted for so long, the thing his body was screaming for.

Somehow Sherlock’s impairment made this all so much hotter.

Eschewing all his training, ethics out the window as Dr. Watson watched his patient lavish those fingers with his tongue.

_Messy._

_Sloppy._

_Damn._

The frontal lobe of John’s brain, the only part not overtaken with need, was working overtime to process how the man underneath him could be the man he’d known for years. Even that though didn’t slow John down. Reaching down between Sherlock’s legs he pushed a finger into him. Sherlock felt no pain. That was part of the magic of the heroin.  In fact, he arched up, body clenching around that single digit and another wanton moan escaped.

“John…” he hissed, eyes clenched shut, overtaken with sensation, “Fill me up.”

It took John a moment to steady himself. He was so bowled over by this demand. Without inhibitions and unending depression Sherlock was a bit of a trollop. He responded to the request by forcing a second finger inside him. His tight entrance protested but his mouth cried out for more. As his body started to become more pliant a little smirk came to the quirk of John’s lips.

He so loved it when bodies did what he wanted them to do.

Pulling out his fingers John quickly replaced them with the head of his throbbing member. The ache in his belly was enough to make him mildly nauseous. He tossed Sherlock’s legs up and as soon as he let go of his wrists Sherlock pulled them back himself with his hands hooked behind his knees.

_He wants it._

That was enough for the annoying little voice of morality in John’s head to get quiet enough for him to concentrate. He had to move slowly, penetrating the dark-haired young man carefully to not hurt either of them. Sherlock’s eyes were screwed shut.

_Pain._

_Pleasure._

_Catharsis._

Sherlock’s rational mind was infinitesimally clearer and he could feel everything. His short nails bit into the skin of his legs. John trembled trying to find a legitimate pace with his hips. He’d wanted this for so long, but never imagined it would happen like this.

“Deeper, John…” Sherlock was starting to sound less like a harlot and more like an ornery child.

John felt disgusted with himself. He liked how Sherlock whined. He enjoyed shutting him up by burying himself to the hilt, making Sherlock flail and attempt to climb the walls. He leaned back over the taller man who was obviously his junior, blue eyes scanning his face and neck, appreciating the marks he’d left earlier. By just his posture alone it was apparent who was in charge.

“I know what you want,” John growled, eyes shining.

Finding his rhythm, John began pounding into the barely prepared body beneath him. It was so obvious he was using him for his own pleasure but that was exactly as they both wanted. Sherlock’s eyes rolled back, mind awash in sensation. John knew he liked to play dangerous, hence the drugs and the cases. His fingers, those meant to heal and help, wrapped around Sherlock’s neck squeezing with surprising force.

Sherlock’s eyes and mouth both snapped open. His crystalline eyes were surprisingly clear and understanding. Somehow John had just known. He enjoyed putting up a fight, pulling at John’s unmoving fingers before clawing at the bed sheets.

Staring up at the ceiling without oxygen but with his opioid receptors tingling, Sherlock began to feel things he’d never felt before. There was a rush of adrenaline and oxytocin.

_Synthetic affection_

_Chemical love_

_John…_

On the edge of consciousness Sherlock finally gave in to the sensations John was pulling from his body with his thrusts. He attempted to scream as his body wrenched upward, muscles spasming from his shoulders down to his toes. John released his neck just as Sherlock’s cock twitched pumping out the first wave of his release in a thick white ribbon.

Surely John had done this before.

The sudden return of oxygen made Sherlock feel as if his orgasm had begun all over again, heightening all sensation and awareness even further. John kept moving inside him, slightly slower, each press of his prostate milking the young man to produce more and more until his cock, still achingly hard, twinged again but produced nothing. Sherlock’s brow furrowed. He was hypersensitive post-orgasm. He had forgotten what this felt like.

John’s low groan gave Sherlock something to focus on thus easing his discomfort. With his head bent low, watching as he moved in and out of the man he was claiming, the good doctor’s breath hitched. Brain bathing in the neurochemicals of love and bonding, Sherlock’s shaking fingers closed gently around John’s straining forearms.

_Closeness_

_Together_

_Just you and me…_

John didn’t have big explosive orgasms. Sherlock watched in fascination as John gave himself over to the slow build-up of sensation, body clenching and trembling. His intrigue was enough to make him forget how much this hurt, the burn of too much friction. Delicate flesh tearing just below. With another low moan and a bit of a growl on a particularly deep thrust, John’s abs tensed as he came inside his partner. It was like marking his territory. Everything deep inside Sherlock belonged to him now.

He kept himself seated inside the pale young man. John enjoyed the conquest. His eyes flitted between Sherlock’s cum coated stomach and his relaxed face. Sherlock stared back at him in awe, drug-addled brain still moving languidly and allowing him to be present for this moment.

John finally moved to pull out, but Sherlock’s grip on his arms tightened suddenly stopping him.

“Please… No…” Sherlock whispered.

A faint smirk came to John’s lips. He glanced down to see the mess they’d made. His release was seeping out some around his softening cock and… Was that blood?  Probably. Just a little.  John hadn’t exactly been gentle.

“I’m sorry. I have to,” John replied, something inside him twisting in excitement at leaving Sherlock wanting more.

Finally he slipped from Sherlock’s body quite naturally as they both adjusted their positions. The whine Sherlock produced was enough to make John smile for weeks. The doctor sat leaning against the headboard, content to enjoy his afterglow. The squirming mess of limbs that Sherlock had been reduced to moved awkwardly up the bed leaving a trail of clothes, blood, and cum behind him. It looked like a scene of brutalization, until Sherlock cooed and lovingly put his head in John’s lap.

John petted the dark curls for a bit before glancing down.

“Sherlock?” he asked.

Just as John had wanted, Sherlock opened his eyes in response. His pupils were almost back to a normal size but just as much affection was present on his face.

He was barely high anymore. John’s eyes flitted to the drawer where Sherlock kept his drugs and felt instantly guilty for everything.

After all, love is merely a chemical reaction.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! <3


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